Then Noah was diagnosed with a heart defect.
I still remember sitting beside his hospital bed, watching his chest rise and fall beneath the thin blanket, praying for a miracle I had no right to expect.
A few hours later, the doctor pulled me aside.
“Noah’s symptoms are worsening,” he said gently. “He needs surgery within six months, or we could be looking at irreversible damage.”
“How much?” I whispered.
He hesitated.
“With everything included… close to $200,000.”
The hallway tilted beneath me.
“I clean offices at night,” I said. “I take care of elderly patients during the day. I don’t have that kind of money. Nobody I know has that kind of money.”
